


Draco's Labyrinth

by CarrieMaxwell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Crookshanks is Merlin (the dog), Crookshanks is also Ambrosius the dog, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dobby is Sir Didymus, Draco is Jareth, Dumbledore is the Wiseman, F/M, Hagrid is Ludo, Harry is Toby Williams, Hedwig is the white owl, Hermione is Sarah Williams, Kreacher is Hoggle, Labyrinth (1986) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, honestly what I am even thinking but let's roll with it, mashing these two beautiful fandoms because I can and you'll like it, still mulling over details, the Weasley's are the Fireys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25752625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrieMaxwell/pseuds/CarrieMaxwell
Summary: Draco is the Slytherin Prince of the Wizarding world; he has everything that wealth can buy, except a loving companion. Convinced he will find who he is looking for beyond the border into the Muggle world, he enchants a book that ends up in the hands of bookworm Hermione Granger. In order to entice her to follow him into the magical world he resides in, he kidnaps her baby cousin Harry Potter and strikes a deal for her to solve the Labyrinth in 13 hours or remain with him forever…
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 48
Kudos: 40





	1. The Grangers

**Author's Note:**

> My Dramione playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Z9YpGAOG5YT3X1OMpPVDQ

It was unexpected, tragic and terrible and true.

When the man named Albus Dumbledore approached the house on Privet Drive, his heart sank at the loss of the infant’s parents. Truly good people they were, dear Lily and James Potter. He placed the basket at on the doorstep, a sealed envelope for the residents to read once they opened the door. The baby inside slept soundly, bright green eyes shut in slumber, tussled black hair covering the sharp looking red scar on his forehead.

These people were the only family he had left, even though they were muggles and unaware of the wizarding world in which he came from, he was of their blood, and the laws bound him to their care rather than a willing wizarding family that would gladly take him in. He only hoped that these teeth healers and their daughter would be good to him, love him unconditionally and protect him with the anonymity of their muggle existence.

He rang the doorbell and apparated away before anyone could answer. It was best if they not know the entire truth. The letter would explain it succinctly.  
……………………

The Grangers happily adopted their orphaned nephew, Harry Potter, opting to keep his name the same in honor of his late parents. Wendell and Monica had tried for many years to have a second child after their daughter Hermione Jean Granger was born, but were met with the obstacles life threw at them until it was merely a pipe dream. Not for lack of trying, even looking into the idea of adoption. And here was their golden opportunity, although many years later than they expected. They had hoped to give Hermione a playmate, a friend to grow up with, rather than feeling delegated to the role of babysitter.

Hermione was less than thrilled. In fact, she downright despised having to give up the room that had been her personal library in lieu of their newest ward. While not a spoiled princess type of girl, Hermione had been doted on in her life and given luxuries that might have bordered on being pampered. The fact that she had her own library spoke “volumes” as to that.

Sure, it was tragic that her aunt Lily and uncle James were killed in a freak gas line explosion, and it was a miracle that little Harry survived with only a jagged scar on his forehead-that she hoped had not damaged his frontal lobe-and anonymously dropped on their doorstep like some prophesized hero in a fantasy novel. But that second bedroom had been hers for nearly a decade, when it became apparent that her obsessive and growing book collection had exceeded capacity for her bedroom and the downstairs reading room.

It had been the best birthday gift of her life, them revealing the bedroom to her and seeing wall to wall shelves lined with all her books and a lovely plush reading chair where she spent many nights curled up in like a cat with a book in her lap. It was with a heavy heart that she had to pack up her books in plastic storage tubs and store them in the garage. It felt insulting to all those wonderful authors and brilliant literary works. Her methodical packing insured that she knew every book inside of every box and should she fancy a read, she could easily locate the tome.

Her latest had been a gift from her recently deceased aunt, given to her just a month before her untimely death. Hermione had carefully torn the wrapping and beheld the maroon bound novel inscribed Labyrinth in gold lettering across the front. She caressed the spine of the book, feeling a spark unlike any other in her life. It felt, for lack of a better word, magical. She dived right into the book that night, enthralled with the mystical world it conjured in her mind.

She read it several times, unable to put it down. She took it everywhere, it was in her backpack during school, in her purse when she was out with friends, and on her desk as she did her homework. Now that Aunt Lily was gone, it was more precious to her than ever. There would be no further gifts from either relative, no more encouraging words that she could one day lead the world with that amazing brain of hers, no more fantastical stories of an enchanted school for young wizards, three headed dogs for pets and beasts called Thestrals that could only be seen by those who had witnessed death, where mermaids and fairies were real and Cornish Pixies were an absolute terror to catch.

Aunt Lily and Uncle James were eccentric, her parents would say. Which was a polite way to say they were weird and unconventional. Her parents were direct, matter-of-fact, and believed in power of modern medicine and technology. Needless to say, family visits were memorable for their heated debates and the choice of clothing her relatives wore. But they were family, and so was little Harry, a bright eyed child who had a tendency to cry. A lot.

Hermione found often than not that her reading time was cut short with the occasional call from her mother to fetch a bottle, change his nappy, hold him and rock him to sleep, blah blah blah. Just because she was reading for leisure didn’t mean her time was any less important! Bad enough the little brat had stolen her library, now he was stealing her precious reading time too!

At a freshly turned fifteen, Hermione was not afraid to speak her mind and now it seemed that verbal spars with her mother were the only form of communication they could have.

“I already gave up my library, isn’t that enough?”

“Hermione Jean! How dare you? Harry is family, we’re his only family! Would you rather he go into the foster care system?”

“At least then I could read in peace!”

“Go to your room!”

“Gladly!”

Hermione flopped onto her bed. She hated this new arrangement. She hated adjusting to this sudden intrusion. And most of all, she hated her baby cousin Harry James Potter.  
It wasn’t fair.  
…………………………


	2. The Slytherin Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has everything and still feels hollow. He has lost hope that his match is a witch of his caliber so he takes to enchanting a fairytale book, hoping that whomever it befalls to is a woman worthy of his heart. He is inspired by his favorite childhood story: The Labyrinth.

Brooding was a common pastime for the young man with platinum hair and stormy grey eyes. Now that he had successfully completed his standard N.E.W.T. and O.W.L.S. and graduated with the highest marks, his life was no longer bound by rules such as curfew and needing parental permission to enter Hogsmeade. He was free to walk where he chose, enjoy a glass of firewhiskey and the carnal pleasures of a woman’s touch.

But still, Draco was not satisfied.

The wizarding world had high expectations of him. Follow in the proud footsteps of his father and take a bride, produce and heir, and manage the gold accumulated by generations stored away in Gringott’s. His career path consisted of few, if any choices. A man of his wealth had no need of an actual job, had gold enough to last several lifetimes. He could enter into the Ministry of Magic, demand any positon and it would be guaranteed immediately. He could have a seat on the panel of the Wizengamot if it so pleased him to do so. There was even the possible, although frowned upon Department of Magical Law Enforcement. His father felt it beneath him, becoming a “civil servant” to the public.

The power of the Malfoy name carried much weight. Far too much for Draco’s taste. He couldn’t step out of the manor without ladies flocking to be a candidate on the list of potential suitresses. Some didn’t want to be courted; they just wanted to claimed for a night or a week and would move on to their next beau. He wasn’t pleased with the prospect of being seen as a means to improve family status or a trophy boyfriend to some heiress that would grow bored of his stoic nature. The courting he’d entertained during his years at Hogwarts had been merely a practice run when faced with the real world.

He was seen as a figure to behold, a prize to be won. He wasn’t seen as a man with red blood in his veins and a heart which pumped it. No, he was a statue of living marble with aristocratic blue blood and a lineage that could be traced back a thousand years back to William the Conqueror. If it wasn’t his gold it was his body they vied for. Pureblood and Half-bloods alike, the lot of them, just wagging their tongues and panting like bitches in heat whenever he entered a room.

He could take his pick, have a different woman every night and one for breakfast too and still not fill that void in his soul. Engaging in conversations of potion formulas and wand casting techniques merely got him glossed over eyes and dumbfounded lips that barely responded other than with “how interesting!” to which he knew meant exactly the opposite. He had found some women of intelligence to converse with, alas many of them had already been plucked up by a lucky man-and in one case, a lucky woman-or they were old enough to be his own mother and radiated that teacher authority that scrubbed at his soul. Not that age truly mattered, but a younger one was preferred to bear a child. 

And so he sat, alone and in a dimly lit library-his favorite room in the manor-and on his birthday no less and sifted through tomes on the subject of soulmates, spirit bonds, anything that didn’t rely on the cheap and often backfiring method of a love potion. At eighteen now, he was at the prime of his life, healthy and fertile, with certainly the youthful energy to do what was required of him to secure an heir. He just needed to find a companion that wouldn’t bore him to death or attempt to lay claim to his mother’s jewels.

He wanted a woman with a fierce intelligence with a passion to learn, to debate-yes, even argue with him and slap him in the heat of the moment-he wanted a walking wildfire with a pair of legs that would stand up to him rather than give in. He wanted wild hair he could run his fingers through. Wild eyes that saw between the lines and façades that were in play at every gala event. And he wasn’t going to find that in any of the witches of wizarding Great Britain and the nearby isles. He’d been introduced to every eligible witch within a thousand miles and further, some coming from countries as far as Bulgaria just to get a glimpse of the Slytherin Prince.

In the dimming evening light he stumbled upon a passage that lifted a pale eyebrow with interest. It was an old spell, long out of practice and seen more as a precaution of what not to do, but he was willing to take a chance. Leave it to Fate. What did he have to lose?

He glanced around the vast room in contemplation. He needed an object to sacrifice for this spell, to be the vessel of his blood and the bait to lure his prey. If he wanted a woman of sharp mind with the bravery to face a new world, he needed a story that would draw her in. It didn’t take him long to find the right bookcase filled with classics from his childhood. His fingers danced along the spines of the tomes, recalling the tales within with a touch. It needed to be something that crossed the boundary between the muggles and wizards, something that would prepare her for the world she was entering.

A skinny spine of maroon tickled his finger with the taunt material it was bound with. He selected the book and smiled. He remembered his mother reading this to him before he outgrew the need for bedtime stories. It never stopped him from picking the book back up and diving right back into the convoluted path of the heroine as she fought against goblins, drugged fruit and creatures that spoke in riddles.

The Labyrinth.

Perfect really. A regular girl from the muggle world who in a fit of anger recites an incantation to have her baby brother whisked away by goblins, only to regret it immediately once the Goblin King appears before her. He offers her a gift which she spurns and declares with defiance that she must have her brother back. The Goblin King is intrigued by this feisty young lady and takes her to the entrance of his massive labyrinth and in true Slytherin fashion, strikes a deal: make it to the center of the maze in thirteen hours or lose her brother forever.

The only difference between himself and this wizard was that Jareth lost the girl and the baby brother in the end and he intended not to fail. A lesson taught to arrogant young wizards who thought that they could have it all. He could sacrifice this novel; he knew the story by heart. He ran his hand over the dark red cover, despite its age it was still in marvelous condition. The Malfoy’s treasured knowledge, knowledge was power and worth its weight in goblin gold if used correctly. Golden letters spelled the title boldly and lined the pages. It was simple and elegant. He placed it on the reading desk where the spellbook sat open, the instructions simple and clear: a drop of his blood to bind this book to his soul, a mark upon his body that would react once this object was touched by one in possession of it. The handler of this book would in essence, be the handler of him as well, hence the danger.

Nevermind the risk, he was forging through with his destiny in his owns hands as he undid the buttons of his shirt and let it fall to the floor. He opened a drawer and removed an antique, sterling silver handled letter opener and steeled his nerve with a held breath as he brought his right arm up over his head and between his shoulders, drawing the blade along several vertebrae. He hissed and winced in the expected pain, feeling the wet red trickle glide down his body as he brought the sharp tip of the crimson stained blade across the spine of the novel, his blood seeping into the material.

“Blood of my spine, bind to this spine. Make us one, make us whole.” He incanted, sealing the crimson liquid within and erasing any damage done to the surface. The book looked whole once more but radiated with his magic. Once in the hands of another who dared drag a finger along the binding would activate in his very bones, alerting him with that ancient tie.

With a flick of his wand and whisper his cut healed and the blood dried and crumbled to dust. He plucked his shirt off the floor and slipped it back on, buttoning all but the top two. He then carefully wrapped the book in simple parcel packaging, tied in twine, and marched down the halls towards the owlery where the Malfoy messaging owls roosted. Although it was evening, their normal waking and hunting hours, a little white female remained.

“Hedwig.” He called to her. With a silent flutter she was on his arm. He tied the packaged book to a leg. “Fly across the muggle border, find a quaint bookshop and see that this book is taken inside. Watch it well dear; inform me of its owner.”

He knew this mission could very well take weeks, months even, possibly a year. The owl would do as she was bid. She would of course hunt and sleep, but all her awaking hours would be dedicated to the task at hand. With the window open he lifted his arm into the air and watched the snowy white avian messenger take to the evening sky, knowing it would be the last he’d see of her for an unknown amount of time.   
……………………………….


	3. Birthday Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily and James are in search for the perfect birthday gift for their hard-to-please niece. A book of course, but not just any book.

“I cannot believe we’re literally waiting until the day before to pick up a gift! Honestly!” Lily admonished as she pushed the perambulator containing a teething Harry slobbering away on a rubber ring to ease his discomfort.

“Well better almost-late than never.” James quipped, hands in his coat pockets. “Honestly, your niece has impossible tastes when it comes to her library. Is there a book she hasn’t read?”

Lily rolled her emerald green eyes. They had this conversation every year. And more and more, it proved truer. Hermione Jean Granger ate books for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert. The local librarian knew her like a second daughter. She’d exhausted her own school library’s ‘pitiful selection’ as she put it and every bookstore within a twenty mile radius knew her face. So they journeyed in a wider radius this year to make sure they stumbled upon something new.

September brought pre-winter chills, so they were bundled against the elements in the chilly breeze. The wind played with James’ hair, spiraling it into black tendrils that danced to a rhythm of their own. He’d look like a fluffy barn owl when the day was through. Lily’s flame red hair was smartly plaited and secured under a wool cap. And sweet little Harry was wrapped in a maroon blanket featuring a Gryffindor crest, the House both his parents were sorted into during their education at Hogwarts.

The street was bustling, school had just begun and parents were still grabbing supplies off shelves, uniforms off racks, and the like. Unlike in the wizarding world where students needs thing like cauldrons, familiars, and a wand. It was a nice change of scenery, every time they crossed the muggle border. Yes, they were more often than not, dressed in wizarding fashion, but they relished the visits with their muggle kin.

Dodging pass a bunch of rowdy boys chasing each other down the cobblestone pathway, Lily spotted the hole-in-the-wall bookshop just dripping with her niece’s aesthetic. She pointed it out to James who nodded in agreement. Crossing the street, they approached the shop, spotting a lovely white owl roosting on the sign pole. It peered down at them with knowledgeable eyes. They recognized its intelligence immediately, it was someone’s messenger.

They shared a look. A faint tingle of magic wafted in the air surrounding the building. Nothing menacing, nothing to raise hackles over. They still approached with caution. They weren’t the only magically imbued ones here. A bell chimed upon the opening of the door. The air tasted of musty parchment and faint magic. There seemed to be no particular filing system as books were haphazardly shoved into shelves, stacked awkwardly in towers that threatened to tip at the slightest touch, and lining every available surface other than the register itself. A cherubic cheeked old lady that radiated grandmotherly warmth and walked with a hunched back and squinty eyes framed by thick lensed glasses was the likely reason for the chaos. 

She fawned over little Harry as the parents scanned their eye over every shelf and book stack while they idly discussed how their niece was an avid bibliophile. Like bloodhounds, they could practically smell the old magic like an empty oven once the bread was removed. The old lady spoke fondly of her business; how she was one the longest established shops in the village and how overjoyed she was at seeing young people retain the love for reading. With the dawn of the new millennium, more and more children were lured away from paperback novels and thick hardbacks in lieu of electronic toys.

Lily and James nodded accordingly, their eyes both settling on the golden glint of letters shining in the ray of sunlight streaming in through the window. Like a beacon, it called to them. The closer they got, the more distinct feeling of magic tickled their senses. This was it, whatever it was. Drawn in with curiosity, James picked up the little maroon novel and flipped through the gold trimmed pages, finding nothing inside to indicate a spell or enchantment of a dangerous nature.

“Perhaps it’s just a preservation spell to prevent the gold leaf from flaking?” he suggested. Lily took it and flipped it to inspect the back, touching the stamped insignia. Nothing happened. She opened to the flyleaf and read the publishing information. It was certainly an old book, and didn’t look its age. In fact, it did appear to be in mint condition. Perhaps her husband was right.

“Funny you should choose that book.” The old proprietor piped up as they approached the counter with it in hand. “Found that tied to that beaut of an owl you probably saw out there, all wrapped like a gift. Not a name or address but I couldn’t let the poor thing be bound to it forever so I untied it. Bird sat still like a statue, smart thing.” She went on; unaware of the looks the couple gave her. “Guessing no one wanted it anymore but who am I to call to return it to? Might as well sell it, fine condition it’s in.”  
“It is.” Lily nervously chuckled. “My niece will love it.”  
Once the transaction was complete the old lady finished her thoughts. “It is special. I feel it in my bones, that book will bring your niece great joy. It’s as if it’s made for her.”  
…………………………

Hermione’s smile was as brilliant as a string of pearls, glistening white and straight, the pride of her dental careered parents. Every picture was a frame worthy moment with her beaming like she was crowned Queen of England. Presents were stacked to the side, wrapping paper and ribbons littered the floor as Monica tried in vain to keep Harry from eating the shiny bows. Friends were eating cake and bopping a balloon back and forth, and one was fiddling with the Rubix’s cube she’d just solved.

“And saving the best for last, this is from the both of us.” Lily announced as she and James took residence on the loveseat. The redhead produced a small rectangle wrapped in red paper with a golden bow and handed it to her wild-haired brunette niece with bright honey-brown eyes and rosy cheeks. The teen could hardly contain her excitement, it was another book! Her aunt and uncle always found the most obscure and oddest works by people she’d never heard of- and she had the internet to search from! With careful fingers she neatly tore the wrapping, mindful that a fingernail could damage the surface of the gift underneath. A maroon novel with gold lettering with the intriguing title of The Labyrinth revealed itself to her.

An awed gasp escaped her lips as she cradled the antique. She knew it was old despite its condition. Nimble fingers brushed the surface, feeling the taunt fabric. Yep, definitely old. She turned it over, spine facing her. One delicate index finger longingly dragged along its length and suddenly a warmth spread through her hand, through her body, striking deep into her bones and down through every strand of her curly hair. She could’ve sworn she saw sparks at her fingertip where flesh met binding, or maybe that was just the flash of the camera causing negative spots in her retinas that would eventually fade away after a few dozen blinks.

“You stare at that book like it’s your boyfriend!” Lavender Brown giggled.

Hermione smiled. Books were so much more fascinating than boys, especially how she’d seen the one Lavender was currently dating when they had their snogfests. Eww.

“Maybe this one…” Parvati began, “Has a cute male lead!” her twin Padma finished. They often did that. Then they burst into giggles.

“That makes four books you’ve acquired today.” Luna counted. “Not a bad addition to add to your-”

But the word was never said, as all eyes suddenly fell upon the slobbering baby with an infectious laugh and innocent green eyes, happily entertained with waving torn ribbon stands in front of Hermione’s fluffy orange cat Crookshanks, who batted a paw at it in a playful game.

Hermione’s moment in the spotlight was cast aside as her adorable nephew soon took everyone’s attention with his giggles and blubbers. She let her friends fawn over him, after all, he’d be going home within the hour and her friends would be staying the night. They’d talk books and boys and share the candy her friends always smuggled in for her. She took the momentary distraction to thank her aunt for the novel, promising to start reading it right away.

That evening as all five girls claimed the living room as their domain; Hermione opened the maroon novel and became so engrossed in it that she barely acknowledged when the others started braiding her hair and weaving ribbons in it. They giggled and made jokes, threw popcorn at each other and gushed over the cute male lead in the movie playing, all the while Hermione felt herself transported into the world of the Goblin King.

Outside the living room window, a snowy white owl roosted in a nearby tree, diligently watching the birthday girl explore her favored gift, falling asleep to images of dancing Fireys, gentle fuzzy giants that could command rocks, and a handsome rogue of a wizard who promised the world.  
……………………….


	4. Careful Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has felt the magic bond activate in the book and must see for himself who wields it. Lurking in shadows, he carefully observes the Granger residence and the young lady within. Is she the one?

He would forever remember the night when the bond activated, grateful that he had been alone in the drawing room of the manor, after his parents took their leave for the evening. He was absentmindedly staring into the orange flames of the fireplace, ruminating the request of his parents once more in his mind. It had been exactly one hundred and six days from when he cast the spell, on his eighteenth birthday.

They wanted to secure their lineage. His mother Narcissa was no longer able to bear any more children; she had in fact, been lucky to carry him to full term. He was last in the both bloodlines, the Malfoy and the Black. With a disgraced aunt having been disowned and shunned from the Black side of the family for her choice of husband, and another locked away in prison, it was his duty to carry on the name.

“You need not marry for love, but of a good family of Pureblood.” His father clarified. “Just ensure the lineage with an heir and then do as you will, with whomever-with discretion of course.”

Draco nodded and replied with emotionless agreement, anything that would end the conversation. While pondering if he could bring himself to be that kind of husband, felt it: a soft caress of a thin finger along his spine, like the touch of a lover. He went rigid, gripping the arms of the highbacked chair, every nerve in his body alight with a fire hotter than the one before him. There was no doubt this was anything other than the bond of the book. He steeled himself as he felt her touch-for certainly it must be a woman’s delicate nature-and closed his eyes, a relief washing over his soul with hope.

His grey eyes shot open with intensity, he had to know her, to see her.  
………………………

Hedwig returned that evening with a rooftop shingle clasped in one clawed foot, handing it to her master so that he may use it in a location spell. He looked over the odd object; the material was different from what wizards topped their homes with-granted most of their homes were historical relics constantly maintained with stasis charms in order to remain pristine. He shrugged with indifference, he had no doubt that his owl had done her diligent duty and this was a piece of the residence of his potential bride.

The first thing in order was to carefully extract a sample of this to bind its location to his Apparation ability.

“Remember this location.” He ordered of himself before concentrating on the object in his hand. He could very well splinch himself by teleporting to an unknown location. Once he learned the name of its residents or the numerical address, he could say either and would still be directed to the house. Right now his mind was racing; his body was practically humming with excitement and anticipation. A moment later he felt the tug as his body was whisked across space and time and suddenly in a new environment.

He stood facing a quaint row of houses all in the same style and color, nothing distinguishing it from the next. What an odd way to live, with a home that looked exactly like the one to either side. Only glinting metal numbers upon the door and post boxes at the end of each yard indicating the family surname and personal effects gave any assemblage of individuality. The air was coated in the scent of freshly cut grass.

Unexpected but not discouraged, Draco made sure to cloak himself in a disillusionment charm so as not to be seen, although it was evening and there was very little activity on this particular stretch of homes. While the majority of homes already had gone dark, there was one in particular that caught his attention due to the noise produced from within and the glow of illumination. Some sort of festive occasion was occurring inside.

Before he even took a step, the door marked #4 opened. He stilled, holding his breath as a young couple emerged from the threshold, a dark haired man and a lovely red haired woman cradling a sleeping baby in her arms with parting farewells on their lips stepped onto the pathway.

A woman remained in the doorway, waving them off. “We’ll see you on Halloween!” she cheerfully waved them off. Once the door closes the two look around with caution. Draco wonders what they’re up to when he feels the static charge in the air that comes with the sensation of Apparation. His jaw slacks in shock as he witnesses it with his own eyes.

They disappear into thin air with a resounding crack.

Holy fucking Merlin.

What were two wizards doing in this muggle village-wherever the fuck it was, he didn’t even know-apparating off after visiting a family of muggles? Unless….was the recipient of his book a muggleborn witch? But if that was the case, then he should have met her, seen her in the halls of Hogwarts. Surely he would recognize her magical signature the instant he laid eyes on her. 

The house is still too busy to risk venturing closer, although he senses no wards of protection. He merely stands, hidden, in the dark, biding his time, taking in the surrounding details. The name on the post box reads Granger. A modest flower bed with pansies and peonies line the stone slab with a welcome mat resting upon it. Everything about this little home radiates love and warmth, the opposite he feels within his own.

Perhaps his salvation does indeed live here.

When the noise dies down and the lights dim, he is finally courageous enough to approach. He is camouflaged in so many layers of magic it is ridiculous. He has silenced his footsteps, disillusioned his body, and has even masked his shadow. There should be nothing and no one that can sense him. With the simplest of wand flicks, the door opens. With the swiftest of steps, he slips in and closes the door. 

He is startled by the sight of five young girls slumbering in various areas of the main room. Were these Grangers so poor they couldn’t afford a home large enough to accommodate all their children? And all girls? Who was his girl? He noted two blondes and two dark haired ones with much tanner skin than all the rest, and a wild haired brunette. He takes in their features, making mental notes of everything, only lacking the identity of eye color. Glancing around the room he sees decorations marked clearly in celebration of one of these girls.

Silently, he slips past the room of slumbering girls and gives himself a silent tour of the tiny residence. A modest kitchen, a loo with the most basic of accommodations, a room with two strange white boxes with a top lid on one and a front opening lid on the other, with baskets holding laundry. The dining table only has six chairs, still not enough to fit the army of girls and two parents. Clearly not all these young ladies reside here.

Perhaps a better clue will be found upstairs.

His steps are silent, yet he creeps along the stairway much like the way he did after curfew in the halls of Hogwarts. Old habits. Portraits hang on the wall, featuring a young couple in wedded bliss, a woman with a round belly, a small infant cradled in the arms of her proud parents, a little girl with wild brown hair and a huge gaping smile, pointing to a missing tooth. That girl with a wild mass of curls holding up awards, trophies, ribbons with medals….she excelled. 

He continued his curious intrusion, finding a small bathing chamber to his left which smelled incredibly minty, followed by the surprising reveal of room turned library. Intrigued, he stepped inside and allowed the evening light to illuminate the shelves of books. A sitting chair with an overhead lamp on a side table and footrest were the only pieces of furniture. The room was permeated in the scent of parchment.

Paling in comparison to his own, the quaint library still held marvelously pristine conditioned books, with fascinating titles such as Matilda, Peter Pan, Alice Through the Looking Glass, Pride & Prejudice, Great Expectations, Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them, The Complete Illustrated Works of Sherlock Holmes, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Wizard of Oz….wait, did I just read that correctly? Surely not…

He doubled back to one of the titles that he knew from his own dutiful studying for his Care of Magical Creatures class when-

-when he felt a soft pressure against his leg. He’d never been so thankful for casting a silencing charm over himself until that moment, for he surely screamed and felt like a fool for doing so. It purred against him, throaty and loud as it swished its bushy orange tail. Nothing more than a mere house cat, perceptive even in the muggle world.

It meows to him, loudly. Worried that the sound will alert any light sleepers, Draco slips from the library, the schoolbook forgotten. He’s lost track of time of how long he’s been here and runs the risk of discovery now that the feline familiar has already sniffed him out. How juvenile of him to forget to mask his scent. He considers himself lucky the little beast didn’t claw him. It was a wake-up call to which he would heed in the future.

Over the following weeks, he dedicates all his free time into observing the Granger household, learning the names of the three member family: Wendell and his wife Monica Wilkins-Granger and their wild haired brunette daughter Hermione Jean Granger, the feline familiar Crookshanks, her four friends and the troublesome boy Cormac McLaggen that somehow couldn’t take no for answer, and the plans they make for the upcoming Halloween holiday. The house goes from cheerful welcoming décor to a faux haunted house with its own little graveyard, ghosts hanging from trees, and a crude mock-up of a green faced witch stirring a cauldron that would cackle and shimmy her hips when someone walked by.

‘Strange that they don’t believe magic is real yet they worship witches and celebrate death for this particular night’

He has snuck into her room on numerous occasions, a few times, he was lucky to find the house unoccupied-except for the cat-and enjoyed the discoveries he made by glancing through her photographs, boxes of board games, the little locked book she tucked under her pillow, books of riddles and crossword puzzles on her desk, and a collection of unicorn figurines lining the shelf on one wall with a large image of a unicorn running against a majestic background pinned to the wall beneath. 

Her room is filled with an undying need for knowledge and a love for the other world which merely seems like a myth that she wants to believe is real. But she’s happy here, she is content with the way her life is going and would never willingly leave all this behind. She is surrounded by love and comforts that do not exceed her expectations yet do not leave her wanting more.

Until the morning of November 1st.

…………………..


	5. The Thirteen Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s an unexpected adjustment for the entire Granger family, adopting Harry and juggling their careers and social lives. A lot of responsibility is placed on the young teen as her parents try to balance work and baby. Their first Christmas together is bittersweet and the new year brings a new person into Hermione’s life.

Despite the anonymous drop off of the baby on their doorstep and the suspicious nature of her aunt and uncle’s deaths, the process went quite smoothly with her parents adopting Harry as their own. It was without question, no hesitation, they immediately forged through with it and merely told Hermione it was happening, rather than even ask for her input.

That was the first strike.

Then they just as quickly turned on her and said she had to pack away her books, for the library was now to become his bedroom. They had gone to the hardware store and bought several weather-safe storage tubs for all her precious tomes and gave her a very short deadline.

That was the second strike.

They dove headfirst into their savings, buying everything possibly needed for a one year old. Nearly everything had been lost in the devastation of the house, and what had survived was not deemed up to code to be reused, so an entire new wardrobe and bedroom was required. Crib, dresser, changing table, mobile, clothes, toys, educational books on child rearing, high chair, play pen, pram, nappy bag…the list went on and on. So much in fact, that her parents apologized and said they’d be having a modest Christmas with few gifts. Much had spent in preparations for Harry’s needs.

That was the third strike.

At first, having Harry interrupt her routine seemed bearable, it was all for a good cause after all. Wouldn’t her own aunt and uncle take her in should the situation be switched? Sure it was inconvenient to have to chase down a beloved novel she wanted to read, or need for research, but she still had her bedroom where privacy reigned supreme and her parents rarely bothered her when she went there to read. That was the case, until the ever growing need for her assistance began interrupting every moment she seemed to place her hand upon a book. At first, she’d say she was doing homework and they’d naturally back off, but there was less and less as the holiday approached. And this was a busy time for dental business as many children were still hoarding sweets from Halloween and eating them late at night. Both her parents’ scheduled were booked full of appointments and she was delegated to babysitting duty.

That was the fourth strike.

So instead of enjoying the last of her free time with friends at the mall, or even entertaining the thought of a date with McLaggen, Hermione was sitting at home, frustrated with a fussy teething toddler and books that offered useless advice to a novice such as herself. Harry was slobbering on everything he could get his grubby hands on-and how did his hands get so grubby?-and not even Crookshanks was safe from the little fingers. The poor cat had his tail tugged one too many times and darted away hissing spitefully, Hermione sitting there wistfully wishing she could do the same.

And then Harry got a hold of one of her books.

That was the fifth strike.

Her parents taking his side, proclaiming his innocence and her lack of responsibility for it, turning the whole situation onto her, was the sixth.

How was it her fault when she was making his damn bottle when he’d grab hold of it and tore out several pages before lodging his fangs into the binding and releasing a torrent of slobber so damaging that the ink smeared into an unreadable mess?

When they said she just had to be more careful when dealing with a baby, and not to get her knickers in a twist over an easily replaceable copy of The Greek Myths, she considered that the seventh strike and a personal insult.

On Christmas Eve as she looked at the very small amount of presents-for she had been unable to go to the mall to go shopping and therefore had very little to offer her parents-she wanted to cry. There was no Aunt Lily, no Uncle James, and a meager dinner spread in place of the usual over-the-top feast that ensured leftovers for days. And on Christmas morning when one of her presents-for sure it was a book!-had been a replacement copy of her baby-slobbered Greek myths, she counted that as strike eight. She would never know what book they originally intended for her because of this replacement and that stung far too deeply to forgive.

She called her friends, while away on holiday and even after they returned, needing someone to vent to. The first call had of course been garnered in her favor, Lavender cooing her sympathies for her loss and rough adjusting and her parents’ lack of understanding. She was adamant about everything coming together at the start of the year and this would all be soon forgotten.

Her second call, to the Patil twins, was a rude awakening as they switched back and forth with her being on speaker, sharing their horrors of what it was like to never have anything of their own, rarely ever having a moment of privacy, and often being referred to as one entity rather than individuals. They shared clothes, make-up, and even each other’s identity when the occasion called for it.

“I’m not a twin, and I’m fourteen years older so obviously, I’m not going to be sharing my darn clothing!” she sighed.

“He’s still going to be using your loo, and you know boys are gross little creatures.” One of them said. After a while, she stopped trying to identify who was who. She shuddered at the thought of urine on the seat and crusted toothpaste on his brush in years to come.

Her third call, to dear Luna was insightful to say the least. Her friend was a flowerchild in every sense of the world with post-Woodstock parents who did yoga and scheduled their social gatherings around their astrological charts. Although Luna was an only child like herself, she seemed wiser beyond her years and clearly more realistic than the Patil twins.

“You know your parents wanted a second child, right? It wasn’t just something they said to placate your ego at being their greatest accomplishment in life.”

Hermione scoffed at the gall of her friend.

“Had this happened sooner, you would have had him as a little playmate, and your best mate until puberty would separate you into your own paths. But as it stands, you won’t have to put up with him for too long, you’ll be going to university before you know it, and he’ll be there to elevate the Empty Nest syndrome your parents would obviously face in your absence.”

“So, you’re saying he’ll fill the void? He’s not my replacement you know.”

“Of course he isn’t, no one could replace you Hermione.” Her friend softly agreed. “But he’ll give your mother something to fret over rather than check up on you every weekend while you’re at a frat party.”

The girls ended the conversation in a fit of giggles.

Once school was back in session, her parents presented her a schedule of nights she’d be required to babysit and have time for friends. The beginning of every new year brought around people who decided that bettering their oral hygiene was their goal for that year and appointments started getting booked for weeks in advance. Non-negotiable they said.

Strike nine.

The more she protested and fought her case the more they guilt-tripped her with the awful reserve psychology of her being in his place. Tears would burn her eyes at the thought of losing her parents, and then not being wanted by the only family she had left. She’d curl up on her bed hugging Sir Lancelot the Brave bear and trying so hard to banish the evil images in her mind, the nightmares that came with them. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Harry, for she did, wholly, but this had been thrust upon them so suddenly that none of them were prepared. Sacrifices were being made, but lately it felt like she was the only one sacrificing. 

This felt like strike ten and eleven, hard to separate but knowing she was being wronged nonetheless.

When her evening phone time had been reprimanded for keeping baby Harry awake past his bedtime, that was strike twelve.

And when Harry had somehow gotten into her room and latched onto Sir Lancelot and absolutely refused to let go, and screamed wildly for an hour when it’d been yanked back, to which her parents-at the end of their tolerance after a long week of cavities and complaining-handed the bear back to the wailing child to end the riot and earn a night of sleep, Hermione’s heart broke with the thirteenth strike.

……………………….

Hedwig made a semi-permanent nest in the tree in the Granger’s front yard, ever diligent on watching and recording the events that Draco himself could not be in person to witness himself. A simple jeweled bangle on one clawed foot enchanted to capture visual and audio that played on the surface of the receiving mirror would give him a firsthand account of the going-ons. 

He’d placated his parents with the white lie that he was narrowing his selection of possible women he had his sights on, which had sufficed for the time on the subject. Of course Christmas was an opportune moment to either introduce a woman or make a proposal to one-which he had done neither-and it was highly suspicious. With his parents so insistent for an heir he fed them the excuse of wanting to be absolutely sure of his bride-to-be and was taking his time. They ate it up.

All the while, he felt his heart go out to the girl and all the hardships she was facing since the arrival of the orphan. Gone was her ever cheerful smile. Gone was her voice full of joy. Gone was the light in her eyes. Now the Granger household raged with raised voices and slammed doors, infantile wailing and muffled teenage screams into a pillow stained with tears and exhausted sighs from two overwhelmed parents just trying to do right by their deceased family members.

It was a lose-lose situation.  
………………………..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is far as I've written so far on this fic as I am still currently working on The Peacock & The Otter and I'm hitting some emotional and plot stirring developments that I don't want to lose so I'm focusing entirely on it at the moment. Trust me, y'all wanna stick around for that.  
> Normally I don't post an uncompleted work but honestly I was hit with a moment of inspiration and just had to write. I didn't want to lose this wonderful idea that I'm still stringing together, wanting to do both fandoms justice since Labyrinth has been integral to my love of the fantasy genre. It's funny, listening to the commentary that they talk about the difference 20 years made between it and Harry Potter on the view of English actors (don't they make just the best villains?) but it wasn't until I started fanfic writing for Let's Play (webtoon) and now Dramione that I saw an instant connection and started drabbling. LOL  
> Patience young Padawans, this tale will continue.


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